


Lists

by Honestly_Wilde



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23487748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honestly_Wilde/pseuds/Honestly_Wilde
Summary: Hawke buys him a notebook when Fenris begins learning how to write as their reading lessons together progress. The elf does his best to impress upon his companion the ridiculousness of the gesture: he’s only just started writing, can barely spell anything, much less compose anything worthy of putting in a journal, but as often happens when the rogue is seized by an idea, she won’t let it go. That is not the point, she says, he deserves this- to have a place to put down his thoughts.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 95





	Lists

**Author's Note:**

> Want a peek behind the scenes of writing these stories? Got a prompt or idea for a fic you'd like to see? I write for all manner of fandoms and ships! Drop me a note on my Tumblr: [Honestly-Wilde](http://www.honestly-wilde.tumblr.com), for more Dragon Age-centric work and drabbles check out my DA sideblog at: [ Talesfromthefade ](http://www.talesfromthefade.tumblr.com)

Hawke buys him a notebook when Fenris begins learning how to write as their reading lessons together progress. The elf does his best to impress upon his companion the ridiculousness of the gesture: he's only just started writing, can barely spell anything, much less compose anything worthy of putting in a journal, but as often happens when the rogue is seized by an idea, she won't let it go. That is not the point, she says, he deserves this- to have a place to put down his thoughts.

It's a well-meaning and thoughtful enough sentiment, so Fenris eventually gives up trying to discourage her. He doesn't tell her there were other opportunities for him to learn these skills in the past. Opportunities he turned down. He doesn't try to explain how with Danarius thoughts were dangerous. And to put them to paper and ink? Unthinkable. Taking one's life in their hands.

The book sits empty on his table for some time after Hawke gives it to him. She doesn't ask, never presses or pressures him about it, for which the elf is grateful. It probably shouldn't be such a surprise- since his escape, Fenris has always taken some level of perverse pleasure in anything Danarius forbid and would have punished him for doing- but when Fenris finally does open it and puts a quill to the page, it is nothing short of thrilling.

Of course, he's no writer- still struggling with spelling, doesn't know nearly enough words to express whole thoughts as Hawke's own journal, or Varric- or even Isabela's ridiculous stories do. So he starts simple. He puts down his name on the inside cover, carefully making sure the ink is dry before closing the book, and periodically opening it again to remind and reassure himself his mark is still there. His name. In his own hand.

Later he begins making lists. It's not perhaps the way most, or more literate individuals would use a journal, but the words, even as few as he knows how to read and write evoke images and feelings- if only for him- and there's a sense of pride flipping through pages as the weeks pass, seeing his lists and the words in them growing longer and more varied as he continues to improve.

He shows Hawke her list. Because he wants her to know he's using her gift, to thank her both for the lessons and everything she has done for him before and since and let her know what she means to him. Because he can't think of a better way of doing so, and he knows she won't laugh at its simplicity or any errors.

**-Hawke** -

_friend_

_protects_

_patient_

_peace_

_loyal_

_kind_

_quick_

(and in significantly larger writing) _**Family**_

She cries, and for a moment Fenris worries he's made a mistake before he's suddenly enveloped in a fierce hug. She kisses his cheek and tells him it's beautiful. Fenris carefully tears the page from the book and gives it to her, and finds it carefully and lovingly pinned in a place of honor about her desk the next time he visits the estate.

He starts making lists for the rest of their companions. There's some overlap, of course, with a growing but still somewhat limited number of words at his disposal, but eventually, each begins to grow and branch out. He even adds to Hawke's sometimes when he's visiting and happens to think of a new one. Every now and again he asks Hawke, or one of their other friends for help with a word for someone's list, although, unlike Hawke's he keeps these largely to himself. Not all of the lists or at least some of the items on them are positive ones, and though it probably wouldn't seem so to anyone else, they're rather personal. None more so as time passes and the list continue to expand- to the elf's great surprise- than Anders'.

The healer's list had, from the very start, vexed him the most. Mots of the words he knew being too neutral to convey quite what he wished to. Fenris is forced to simply recall or imagine the intense dislike with which he generally uses the word ' _mage'_ and _'abomination'_ when he writes them at the top of Anders's list. He adds ' _dangerous'_ , then ' _fear'_ which he immediately crosses out, then writes again, because it's true, and it's not as though anyone else will read this. Hawke is right, he should have a place fo this thoughts, even if he voices many of them now that he's free. He reluctantly adds ' _useful'_ after the mage patches them all up after they kill the High Dragon plaguing the Maker-forsaken Bone Pit. ' _Funny (sometimes)'_ after one amusing night of Wicked Grace in Varric's room at the Hanged Man. _'Gentle'_ after Fenris sees him helping to heal and comfort an injured child.

Anders list continues to grow and to fill itself with contradictions, until- for reasons the elf can't entirely explain it well outstrips the length of any of his lists for his other companions, and features many things crossed out only to be rewritten shortly thereafter. Bafflingly unexpected words like: _'handsome'_ (three times crossed out, then rewritten). Fenris writes _'fear'_ again on the line after that; he feels it's justified given the way the list is going. It isn't until later when it's Anders that is injured on a trip to the Wounded Coast, Anders they all help take turns carrying back to his clinic, seeing the healer sprawled on one of the cots for his patients and shakily accepting and downing each potion his assistant brings that Fenris realizes just how much.

Still, he never actually meant for Anders to find out. Fenris opens his journal a few weeks later to add an amusing joke Isabela had shared with him only to be greeted by unfamiliar words in a hand that definitely is not his own. Anders, he thinks, recognizing it from various copies and drafts of the mage's manifestos he's seen around Hawke's mansion. She must have purchased a similar journal for Anders as well. Which means, the elf realizes with dawning realization and horror, Anders must have picked up his notebook at the end of the night playing cards by mistake.

It's late. Anders keeps long hours, but Kirkwall is hardly the safest place to travel alone after dark these days, even as well-armed and armored as he is. And surely, barrelling into the mage's clinic in such haste so soon after departing his company would only arouse suspicion and curiosity about what the elf might be so keen to keep private. But if he waits... Fenris thinks anxiously pacing the length of the foyer as he debates the matter with himself. Perhaps the healer has already retired for the night? Maybe he could just sneak in? Switch the journals before Anders is any the wiser?

Fenris stalks across the hall and throws open the front door of the mansion only to startle the same man occupying his thoughts, Anders' hand raised on the verge of knocking, a familiar notebook tucked beneath his arm.

"Venhedis!"

"Oh," the mage manages, amber eyes going wide. "Fenris, I um-" he stumbles awkwardly, gaze dropping to his boots and the cobblestone beneath them. "I believe this belongs to you," he says finally, thrusting the journal forward awkwardly.

"Yes," Fenris nods, taking the book back as quickly as he can manage without seeming overly eager to do so. It's almost certainly his notebook, but the elf takes a moment to flip through the pages, breathing a sigh of relief and drawing comfort from the sight of his hand on the page, of the book once more safely in his possession.

_Does he know?_ He's acting... strange. But, then, the elf supposes in retrospect, Anders has been acting a bit different with him for a while now. The barbs the two of them used to trade back and forth have become progressively less sharp, and increasingly less frequent. He can't recall, in fact, the last time the two of them had an ugly enough argument Hawke felt the need to try and step in, or worse yet, make the two of them apologize to one another. They're not friends, at least, not the way he is with Hawke, Varric, or Donnic, but they don't seem to be so antagonistic as they once were either.

"We seem to have accidentally traded," Fenris offers finally, gently closing the book once more. "-come in," he adds thoughtfully. He is still technically squatting here after all, and with Anders' status as an apostate, it wouldn't really do to be seen together on the street just outside the mansion. "I'll go and get yours."

Anders nods, moving into the foyer and waits, rocking gently back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands folded behind his back as he waits for the elf to return with his own book. The mage seems especially set on trying to look busy studying the decor, except there's little to speak of, Fenris hasn't changed or bothered to put anything up since moving in that would suggest someone lives here or give any hints of his own personal tastes. He's not in any rush to do Danarius or anyone else any favors should they come to try and retake the place.

Fenris does his best not to flinch or recoil as Anders hand accidentally brushes his when he returns and hands the healer his notebook back, but it's a near thing. Anders seems to notice anyway, frowning slightly.

"You really are afraid of me," Anders whispers softly.

"You read it," Fenris growls, eyes narrowing on the man in front of him.

"I'm sorry," Anders apologizes, and for once it sounds as though the mage actually means it. "I know I shouldn't have, I know, but I just... I saw my name and I was curious."

"It's nothing personal."

"Of course not," Anders nods, awkwardly though, Fenris can tell he doesn't actually believe him.

"I fear and distrust all mages," Fenris continues, "You know that."

"Yes," he nods again. "Well, thank you for looking after this for me," Anders says holding up the book.

Fenris watches as the other takes his leave, before feeling a sudden clench in his chest, a hand abruptly darting out to catch the other's wrist before he can pull the door open. "Anders," he calls, voice scarcely louder than a whisper, slowly letting go of him as the blonde turns around to face him once more, a puzzled expression on his face. "I- I don't know enough words. Even if I did-" he shakes his head, pulling the book back out and flipping quickly to Anders' list, a lyrium-lined finger tracing down the page, stopping at the first list of the word fear, crossed out and rewritten. "I am afraid of you," he admits softly. "But-" he continues, finger tracing further down to the bottom of the page where the word appears again, no, this isn't what he wants to say. "I am afraid of myself around you," the elf manages finally, green eyes slowly lifting up to meet the stunned golden ones that stare back at him. "Of the things I feel when I'm around you. Or not around you. Or- fasta vass- thinking about you," Fenris continues frustratedly, drawing a steadying breath before continuing softly. "And I've been afraid of what you might say or do if you knew."

Anders blinks, still slack-jawed. Then suddenly he's laughing, shaking his head. Fenris frowns bitterly. Really, he should have known better. He did, but the knowledge doesn't do much to soften the blow.

"Goodnight mage," Fenris manages curtly.

"Wait," Anders interjects, sobering quickly as he catches sight of the other's expression. "Fenris, no, I- it's not that. It's just obviously you didn't read mine," the mage offers with a small half-smile. The elf shakes his head, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Why?"

"Because if you had," Anders smiles softly, one hand gently reaching out to cautiously take Fenris' in his own, "you would have known you don't have to be afraid of that, or- that we've shared the same fears, at least."

"8th of Harvestmere," the mage recites, amber eyes never leaving the elf's green ones. "Maker help me, there's no way this can end in anything but a disaster. I don't know how or when it happened, but I think that I love him. I-"

The door to the mansion slams shut with a loud thud as Fenris shoves Anders back against it, crushing his lips to his before the other can say anything more, or the elf can think twice about it, both notebooks falling to the floor, temporarily forgotten as arms and hands wrap around one to clasp one another.

Waking early the next morning just as the sun begins to peak through the slats in the windows upstairs, Fenris takes a moment to admire the pale, freckled shoulders on the opposite side of the bed, strawberry blonde hair fanned out across the pillow, and the peaceful expression on his newfound lover's face before carefully slipping away to pad downstairs. He collects the books, taking care to place Anders' on the nearby table before retreating with his to the nearby desk with his quill and ink and begins a new page.

**-Anders-**

_protects_

_cares_

_heals_

_gentle_

_funny_

_handsome_

_smart_

(And in significantly larger writing) _**Love**_


End file.
